And the Girl Had Hemlock In Her Hair
by spheeris1
Summary: {one more time.....} Fairy tales and sickness combine {light and odd Utena/Anthy} *sorry K-bear about losing review*


And The Girl Had Hemlock In Her Hair

By spheeris1

Pairing: light Utena/Anthy

Warnings/Notes: AU-ish, poetry-ficlet fusion, low angst, sorta story within story….kinda…..

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My thanks to the cold weather, the Portland Girls' Choir and a depressed holiday spirit

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She was too sick to pay attention in class that day.

One boring professor in front of the blackboard slowly became two, three, four…..

Until she was somehow walking down the hall.

To her room.

To her bed.

She hoped for sleep. She longed for sleep. She *needed* sleep.

Her eyes burned and her vision was blurry.

Tiny beads of sweat covered her brow.

Someone said 'the twenty-four hour flu'. And someone else said 'just the common cold'.

She didn't care what the hell it was.

She wanted it gone.

She wanted rest and peace and quiet.

But her roommate came in, bubbly and babbling.

Words pierced through her haze…..simple, stupid words…..

Like 'paper' or 'book' or 'write'.

Write on paper about a book. That's what her ditzy and unnervingly happy roommate chatted about.

Chatter. On and on.

And to who?

She wasn't listening, her head buried under blankets, her head pounding with the heavy heat of fever.

She wasn't listening, didn't her roommate care? 

Didn't she notice?

And how can she talk so calmly….with the room spinning like it is…….

With bookshelves and entertainment centers spinning.

Becoming a blur of brown, black, cream.

Simple, stupid words. Echoing…..piercing…..ricocheting off her eardrums.

Someone stood before her. When did she sit up?

They moved their mouth, but no sound came out. Mouthing words like

'water' or 'cool cloth' or 'shower'.

All of those things sound great.

Sound wonderful.

Something cold, like the snow on the ground outside.

Or the icicles hanging on the eaves.

Or like…..

---

__

….her skin, cold, lifeless to the touch and her lips, like ice…like ice….and she touches me and my heart beats so fast, too fast….everything is spinning much too fast….

---

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks me. And I hear myself answer.

"Yes, I'm fine….."

Just fine. Yes, a shower would help. And yes, some cold water on my forehead.

What? Oh, I really am sweating that bad. Very badly.

No, don't call a doctor. I'll be fine….just fine…just fine….just fine….just fine.

I just need the shower, the water, the cold.

That's all.

---

__

"It's about fairy tales. Write about one, analyze it. Figure out its' layers and modern-day relevance."

I murmur. I hedge. I avoid.

"I don't like fairy tales. All a bunch of shit. Lies for gullible children."

She nods. She hums. She doodles on a page of notebook paper.

"My mother used to tell me one….about a castle…."

"They all have a castle. And a prince. And a princess. And evil dragons or trolls or something like that."

I don't like fairy tales. They're not real. 

All the castles are made of sand. All the princes love themselves. And all the princesses are murderous.

---

Every sound is thunderous. 

Banging. Clanging. Loud.

She grips her head tightly, pressing her fingers against her skull.

Aspirin doesn't help. Sleep doesn't help. Nothing helps.

Not a twenty-four hour flu…..not a cold…..what is wrong with me?

I am so tired, but I am awake.

I am writing on the paper. The paper about fairy tales.

I cannot fail this course.

I cannot fail this test.

And I hate fairy tales….no matter the hero or heroine. 

No matter the cause for which they fight, for which they love, for which they suffer.

And she leaves the page, senseless words scribbled down in chicken scratches.

'princess'

'wound'

'poison'

'thorns and towers'

She walks around her room, her steps uneven and careless. She falls to the ground, shivering and shaking.

It is hot and cold.

It is steady and then spinning.

And, fuck it all, her head will not stop throbbing.

Pulsing with pain and sounds and fever and words…..

Words she doesn't want to remember, words she cannot forget.

Echoes of distant whispers, caressing her subconscious…kicking at her with their feet.

---

__

I am in the tower. I am alone and afraid.

The thorns block safe passage, the thorns cover my skin.

I am the kings' daughter, the princess of the castle.

And I wear a crown of hemlock in my hair.

Cursed as a babe to slay those that try to rescue me,

I am the princess of this lonely tower.

---

Did you write this?

The roommate questions.

The roommate smells of mint and clover, like undergrowth in the forest, like moss.

And she answers quietly, for speaking hurts her ears.

Yes.

I wrote that. Useless words. I don't understand them.

'It is beautiful' the roommate says.

But she doesn't understand how her pencil ramblings can be beautiful. And she says so.

She speaks of *real* beauty.

Of dawn over the ocean. Of crisp snow on a mountain.

Of naked skin……

….against black sheets…..

….against pale flesh….

….against moonlight and velvet…..

The roommate tries not to listen. This is too personal, too vivid, too real.

The roommate never asks questions.

This girl in her room, sick in bed, sweating on her pillow….the roommate doesn't pry.

The roommate does not ask where this girl has been.

Where she is going, what she is doing, why she is talking….

Like she is talking now.

Talking like the roommate isn't even there.

Her unfocused eyes shimmering with unshed tears, tears of something the roommate does not want to know. Of this girls' past. 

So, the roommate leaves.

And the paper falls to the floor.

---

__

Do you love me?

Of course.

I can take you away, I can make you happy, I can save you.

I believe you.

Do you? Do you really?

Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

May I kiss you? Just once?

……just once……

---

This isn't real.

Me, hiding under this comforter.

Me, cowering at the nighttime.

Me, running from….running from……

Stop shaking, stop the panic.

I am running and I can't breathe.

---

__

"Did you finish the paper?" she asks. And I nod.

"I've never heard that one before. Can you tell it to me?" she asks. And I nod.

I start it the same way, the same way I heard it, the same way it has always been told.

There was a kingdom. Perfectly square stones made the roads, the homes.

The castle rose up out of the woods, roots clinging to it and vines winding around it.

The king had a throne of locust. The queen had a throne of cherry.

The prince rode a horse of mahogany across the countryside.

The princess played with dolls of pine, oak and birch.

And there was a witch, living in a house of driftwood…..

For she was always drifting. Leaving. Running.

She became enamored with the princess and drew near her.

The witch was running to be near her and couldn't….breathe……

And in her hair, in her flowing and beautiful hair, lay a crown.

Little white flowers and little green leaves,

A ring around her precious head.

The witch only wanted to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her.

But that was not to be. 

The princess lived in a tower, you see. To keep her safe and to keep others away.

The witch didn't know.

All it took was one touch….just one.

'Just once' the witch begged.

'Just once' the princess answered.

---

She feels the air drain out of her body.

She feels the snow on her skin.

She can hear singing, past the heavy doors, past the glistening light.

And she swears she can see angels flying above.

They watch her silently.

And they laugh at her endlessly.

'Just once' she murmurs. 

And she feels lips on hers, tender and warm.

She feels arms encircle her, carry her, hold her tightly.

She whispers into the night.

'I can save you…..will you let me? I can love you….do you love me?'

And a voice answers….

'Of course'.

---

__

"How does it end?" the roommate asks.

"It doesn't." 

"But it has to end? They all end!" the roommate exclaims.

"This one does not end. Ever. It goes on and on and on. That's why I hate it. I hate all fairy tales."

"But what happens? I don't understand." the roommate sulks.

The witch dies. They all die trying to reach the princess. To kiss her. To love her.

But the princess will never remove her crown.

For she is bound to it, like the king to his castle. Like the queen to her gown. Like the prince to his steed.

And all things you are bound to

Will eventually take over.

Like the vines and roots on the castle.

Take over.

Overrun.

"Who told this to you?" the roommate asks, curious.

"No one. I just know it."

---

She lays in the snow. It feels so good to be cold. 

And to be quiet.

And to be calm.

A kiss from an angel. From a princess who lives in her heart, her mind, her very soul.

And she doesn't mind dying.

She just wants to save that girl from that tower and that crown.

Because it is love.

The girl, the *princess*, said it was love.

__

Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

She smiles as she feels the blood thicken and freeze in her veins.

'Of course'.

---

END


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